I'm Tired of Mom-Shaming—Here's Why
- Mama Poe
- Apr 21, 2024
- 7 min read
Updated: 1 hour ago
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I realized pretty quickly as a young adult that people love making women's choices their business. Then I got pregnant.
Suddenly, it felt like everyone had an opinion—not just about my pregnancy, but about every decision I made. What I ate. How I planned to give birth. Whether I was going to breastfeed. If I planned to have more kids. The questions were endless, and so was the judgment.
Maybe that sounds dramatic. But pregnancy was the first time in my life that complete strangers, acquaintances, and even well-meaning family members felt comfortable weighing in on deeply personal decisions that simply weren't theirs to make.
And here's why I'm tired of it.
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Mom-Shaming Started Before I Was Even a Mom
When I was about 13 years old, I remember telling my very old-fashioned Italian grandfather that I wasn't sure if I wanted children someday. I don't remember what led to that conversation, but I'll never forget his response.
"A tree that doesn't bear fruit is a waste of space."
At thirteen years old, I laughed it off. As an adult, those words would come back to haunt me in ways I never expected.
Then Life Happened
Fast forward about thirteen years, and I hit the lottery when it came to husbands. My husband, Steven, has softened my calloused heart in ways I never knew were possible over the decade we've been together. By the time we got married, starting a family with him wasn't even a question. I wanted children wholeheartedly. We decided to start trying about six months after our wedding.
Like so many people, I assumed getting pregnant would happen quickly. Instead, we found out in March 2023 that I was pregnant... only to lose that pregnancy just a few weeks later.
The miscarriage shattered me. I remember feeling like my body had completely failed me. How could it not do the one thing it was "supposed" to do? After all, isn't that the message so many women grow up hearing? We spend our childhoods playing house, rocking baby dolls, and being told that motherhood is one of life's greatest purposes.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard those words again. A tree that doesn't bear fruit is a waste of space.
When Answers Created More Fear
After my miscarriage, I became determined to understand what had happened.
I met with my OB-GYN, who asked questions that made me realize something I'd never really thought much about before. Before starting hormonal birth control at 13, my periods had always been incredibly painful and irregular. Because I'd spent so many years on birth control, I'd never stopped to question whether that was normal. After a series of tests, I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS) and adenomyosis.
While my doctor remained hopeful that I could have a healthy pregnancy, Google was far less optimistic. I spent hours reading stories from women who struggled with infertility for years. Women who endured miscarriage after miscarriage. Women who needed IVF or never became mothers at all. The more I read, the more convinced I became that motherhood simply wasn't going to happen for me.
Learning about my diagnoses sent me into one of the darkest periods of my life. I remember crying to my sister-in-law and saying, "If I can't have kids, I don't want to live anymore." Looking back now, I don't just hear grief in those words. I hear shame.
Years of messages telling me that becoming a mother was what made me valuable had become so deeply ingrained that I couldn't imagine a future without it. Thankfully, my husband never made me feel that way. I remember sobbing to Steven, terrified that I'd never be able to make him a father. He looked at me and said something I'll never forget:
"I'll have a fulfilled life with you, whether we have kids or not."
For the first time in months, I felt like maybe my worth wasn't tied to my ability to have children after all.
And Then... Everything Changed
Three months after my diagnosis—and about six months after my miscarriage—I found out I was pregnant again.
Ironically, I had just started making peace with the possibility that motherhood might look different than I'd always imagined. Maybe we'd need fertility medication. Maybe we'd need IUI or IVF. Maybe becoming parents would simply take longer than we'd hoped. But life had other plans.
When I saw those two pink lines, I felt two completely opposite emotions at the exact same time. I felt like the luckiest person in the world. And I was absolutely convinced I was going to miscarry again.
Thankfully, my worst fears never came true. Instead, I got the surprise of a lifetime. I wasn't just pregnant. I was pregnant with twins. Seeing those two tiny heartbeats on the ultrasound was the first time I allowed myself to believe that maybe... just maybe... this pregnancy would end differently.
BUT You Can Be Grateful and Still Hate Being Pregnant
After everything we'd been through, I thought finally becoming pregnant would make me love every second of it.
It didn't. And for a long time, I felt extremely guilty admitting that. But, my twin pregnancy was hard. Really hard. By about eight weeks, my body was already struggling to keep up with two rapidly growing babies. My joints ached constantly. My muscles felt like they were being stretched beyond their limits. My reflux became so severe that I would wake up choking on stomach acid. By around 20 weeks, I had stopped sleeping through the night almost entirely because I was in so much pain.
I wanted so badly to be one of those women who loved being pregnant. I just... wasn't. Whenever someone asked how I was doing, I usually had two choices. I could lie. Or I could tell the truth. When I chose honesty, the responses were almost always the same.
"Just be grateful."
"It'll all be worth it."
"Oh... I loved being pregnant."
I know those comments were usually meant to be encouraging. But they never felt encouraging. They made me feel like my experience was somehow wrong.
Of course I knew my babies would be worth it. Of course I was grateful. Those things were never up for debate. What I needed wasn't a reminder to appreciate my pregnancy. I needed someone to say,
"That sounds really hard."
"I'm sorry you're hurting."
"How can I help?"
Instead, I slowly learned who I could be honest with... and who I couldn't. That realization was lonelier than I expected.
Then Came the Unsolicited Advice
As my pregnancy progressed, so did everyone else's opinions. Suddenly, complete strangers—and sometimes people I loved—felt comfortable questioning nearly every decision I made.
Would I have a medicated birth?
Would I breastfeed?
Would I have a vaginal delivery?
Would we have more children afterward?
Everyone seemed to have an opinion. One conversation has stuck with me more than others. When I mentioned that I was planning to have a scheduled C-section, a family member looked absolutely horrified. "Why?" they asked. I explained that with twins, one baby is often breech. Even if both babies started labor head-down, Baby B could still require an emergency C-section. For me, planning a C-section felt like the safest and least traumatic option. Their response?
"You still have time to change your mind."
I wish I could say I laughed it off. Instead, I went home and spent hours scrolling Reddit, desperately searching for reassurance that I wasn't making the wrong decision. I found countless opinions telling me that choosing a C-section somehow made me less of a woman. Less of a mother. Looking back now, I hate that I let strangers make me question a decision that was never theirs to make.
Finding My Backbone
That conversation changed something in me. I realized I couldn't spend my entire pregnancy trying to justify every decision I made. So I stopped.
"Breast is best."
No.
Fed is best.
"You should really try..."
No thank you. I'll follow the advice of my medical team.
"So... when are you having another?"
Actually... can we stop asking women that altogether? Not only is it deeply personal, but you never know whether someone is struggling with infertility, pregnancy loss, finances, or something else entirely.
Some people probably thought I became sarcastic. Maybe I did. But after months of feeling like my body, my pregnancy, and my future were somehow public property, setting boundaries became one of the healthiest things I could do. And honestly? I hope some of my responses made people think twice before asking another woman the same intrusive questions.
Final Thoughts: Mom-Shaming Can Shove It
Every mother has a story you probably know nothing about. Maybe she struggled with infertility. Maybe she experienced pregnancy loss. Maybe she had a traumatic birth. Maybe breastfeeding didn't work out. Maybe she chose a C-section. Maybe she desperately wanted a vaginal birth and never got the chance.
None of those experiences make her more—or less—of a mother.
Motherhood is already full of enough self-doubt. We don't need strangers adding to it. So if someone makes you feel guilty for the choices you're making during pregnancy or motherhood, here's your reminder: You don't owe anyone an explanation.
As long as your children are loved, healthy, and safe, your journey doesn't need anyone else's approval. Plus, mothers have enough to deal with. Did you know pregnancy is the equivalent of running a marathon for 40 weeks? Or that your brain is literally re-shaped after you give birth?
And if people still insist on offering unsolicited opinions after all that? Well... Mom shaming can shove it.
Posted from the heart,
Mama Poe
If you are struggling with feelings of depression or anxiety during or after pregnancy, call or text the National Maternal Mental Health Hotline at 1-833-TLC-MAMA (1-833-852-6262).
Continue ReadingIf you're looking for more mom content, check out these posts: ✨ 10 Motherhood Truths I'm Learning in Real Time 🤱 The 4th Trimester Survival Guide (What No One Tells You + How To Actually Calm a Newborn) |
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